Poppy and Alex have been best friends ever since a fateful car share home from college.
The two rarely see each other with Poppy living in New York City And Alex in their small hometown.
Except for the one week of vacation they take together every summer.
Emily Henry.Credit: Devyn Glista/St. Blanc Studios
Or realize that they’re destined for something more.
AndPeople We Meet on Vacationseems to promise a similar chance to luxuriate in those beachy vibes.
Like a good book or an incredible outfit, being on vacation transports you into another version of yourself.
Berkley
On vacation, your hair changes.
The water is different, maybe the shampoo.
You think,maybe I could do this at home too.
On vacation, you strike up conversations with strangers, and forget that there are any stakes.
If it turns out impossibly awkward, who cares?
Youll never see them again!
Youre whoever you want to be.
you’re free to do whatever you want.
Okay, so maybe not whatever you want.
On my way out of the bathroom, I pause.
Partly, this is because Im still working on my game plan.
In the corner, a jukebox haloed in neon light plays the Flamingos I Only Have Eyes for You.
If not for the storm, I wouldve chosen somewhere else for my last night in town.
Thus I found myself here.
In a sticky-floored bar called only BAR, scouring the meager crowd for my target.
Hes sitting at the corner of BARs bar itself.
His head is bent over his phone, a look of quiet concentration visible in his profile.
His teeth worry at his full bottom lip as his finger slowly swipes across the screen.
Though not Disney-World-level packed, this place is loud.
The storms got the whole island going stir-crazy, and the cheap beer has everyone feeling rowdy.
But the sandy-haired man sitting at the corner stool has a stillness that makes him stick out.
Actually, everything about him screams that he doesnt belong here.
Despite the eighty-something-degree weather and one-million-percent humidity, hes dressed in a rumpled long-sleeve button-up and navy blue trousers.
Hes also suspiciously devoid of a tan, as well as any laughter, mirth, levity, etc.
I push a fistful of blond waves out of my face and set off toward him.
I catch the bolded words CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE.
Hes fully reading a book at a bar.
I swing my hip into the counter and slide my elbow over it as I face him.
His hazel eyes slowly lift to my face, blink.
Do you come here often?
He studies me for a minute, visibly weighing potential replies.
No, he says finally.
I dont live here.
Oh, I say, but before I can get out any more, he goes on.
Makes it hard to get out.
I frown at just about every part of that sentence.
Im so sorry, I recover.
It must be awful to be dealing with all that while also coping with a death.
I wave a hand in a tight circle, gesturing to his getup.
Arent you in town for a funeral?
His mouth presses tight.
Then what brings you to town?
His eyes drop to his phone.
Dragged me, he corrects.
He says this last word with some disdain.
I roll my eyes.
Away from your cat?
With no good excuse except for enjoyment and merrymaking?
Are you sure this person can really be called a friend?
Less sure every second, he says without looking up.
Hes not giving me much to work with, but Im not giving up.
So, I forge ahead.
Whats this friend like?
Short, he says, still reading.
Oh, shes obsessed with shitty dive bars that smell like salmonella.
Im afraid to even drink the bottled beer herehave you seen the Yelp reviews for this place?
Are you kidding right now?
I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.
Well, he says, salmonella doesnt have a smell, but yes, Poppy, you are short.
I swat his bicep, breaking character.
Im trying to help you!
He rubs his arm.
I know Sarah broke your heart, but you gotta get back out there.
First of all, Flannery OConnor is not an asshole, he says.
She just doesnt like you, he insists.
You have strong dog energy.
All Ive ever done is have a go at pet her, I say.
Why have a pet who doesnt want to be petted?
She wants to be petted, Alex says.
You just always approach her with this, like, wolfish gleam in your eye.
Poppy, he says.
You approach everything with a wolfish gleam in your eye.
Just then the bartender approaches with the drink I ordered before ducking into the bathroom.
Just one hypothetical example.
Of something that has exactly happened before.
Alex Nilsen is a study in control.
I take a sip of the margarita and a hum of pleasure works its way out of me.
Dog in a humans body, Alex says to himself, then goes back to scrolling on his phone.
I snort my disapproval of his comment and take another sip.
By the way, this margarita is, like, ninety percent tequila.
I hope youre telling those unappeasable Yelp reviewers to shove it.
And that this place smells nothing like salmonella.
Hed doand has donethe same for me, after all.
So, I say.
Should we take it from the top again?
Ill be the sexy stranger at the bar and you be your charming self, minus the cat stuff.
Well get you back in the dating pool in no time.
He looks up from the phone, nearly smirking.
Ill just call it smirking, because for Alex, this is as close as it gets.
You mean the stranger who kicks things off with a well-timed Hey, tiger?
I think we might have different ideas of what sexy is.
when you fell from heaven?
He shakes his head.
I stand, throw the rest of my drink back dramatically, and slap the glass onto the bar.
So what do you say we get out of here?
Easy, I say.
I have lower standards.
And no Flannery OConnor to get in the way.
Also, I am, arguably, gorgeous from certain angles.
He stands, setting a twenty on the bar before tucking his wallet back into his pocket.
Alex always carries cash.
I dont know why.
Ive asked at least three times.
Doesnt change the fact that youre an absolute freak, he says.
You love me, I point out, the tiniest bit defensive.
His face is a sieve, only letting out the smallest amount of expression at a time.
I know that, he says.
I grin up at him.
I love you back.
He fights the widening of his smile, keeps it small and faint.
I know that too.
This was a good trip, I say.
Best yet, he agrees, the cool rain gusting in around us like confetti from a cannon.
I just realized, he says, we didnt take any pictures at the bar for your blog.
I start to laugh, then realize hes not kidding.
Alex, none of my readers want to see pictures of BAR.
They dont even want to read about BAR.
I didnt think BAR was that bad.
You said it smelled like salmonella.
He ticks the turn signal on and guides the car down our narrow, palm-tree-lined street.
Actually, I havent really gotten any usable pictures this week.
Alex frowns and rubs at his eyebrow as he slows toward the gravel driveway ahead.
Other than the ones you took, I add quickly.
The pictures Alex volunteered to take for my social media are truly terrible.
But at least you could tell Im happy in it.
I tried to write something about that in the caption, but it was hard to explain.
In the past week, weve had approximately forty minutes total on the shore of Sanibel Island.
Hey, Alex says as he puts the car in park.
Lets take a picture, he says.
You hate having your picture taken, I point out.
Which has always been weird to me, because on a technical level, Alex is extremely handsome.
I know, Alex says, but its dark and I want to remember this.
Okay, I say.
I reach for my phone, but he already has his out.
What are you doing?
I say, reaching for his phone.
Thats what selfie modes for, you grandpa.
he laughs, jerking it out of reach.
Its not for your blogwe dont have to look good.
We just have to look like ourselves.
If we have it on selfie mode I wont even want to take one.
You need help for your face dysmorphia, I tell him.
How many thousands of pictures have I taken for you, Poppy?
Lets just do this one how I want to.
two The flash pops off before he ever gets to three.
He flips the phone around to look at the picture and moans.
Noooo, he says.
I am a monster.
How is it possible were both so hard to see and so bad-looking simultaneously?
Laughing, he throws his head back against his headrest.
Okay, Im deleting it.
I fight the phone out of his hand.
That was the point, Alex.
To remember this trip how it really was.
And to look like ourselves.
His smile is small and faint as ever.
Poppy, you dont look anything like that picture.
I shake my head.
And you dont either.
Next year lets go somewhere cold, Alex says.
Okay, I say, grinning.
Well go somewhere cold.
